


Chance Music

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: First Time, Humor, Los Angeles, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revolving around Zach's brief return to LA.  Fairly PWP.  Only vaguely affiliated with aleatoric music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Music

Chris doesn't meet him at the airport—it's not that kind of friendship. But they do meet up for lunch eventually, and clearly Zach hadn't mentally prepared himself for it, hadn't thought he needed to, until it had actually happened:

Obviously Chris's eyes have gotten bluer somehow, and his shoulders and his walk more swaggeringly debonair, but that could just be Zach's imagination . . .

Chris smiles and his teeth are familiar in a way that makes happiness simmer in Zach's chest.

"'Sup," Chris says.

"Yeah," Zach says eloquently. "I mean, hi. I mean, yeah nothing much, you know . . ."

Chris raises his eyebrows. "Got the first date jitters, Zach?"

Bingo. "No, dude, jeez, come on."

Chris laughs. "You suck at that. Come on, let's get some food, I'm fucking starving . . ."

"You're always fucking starving. Maybe stop counting coffee as food just because it costs roughly the same."

They get some food, and Zach hadn't even remembered that he remembered the way Chris ordered things by counting out items on his fingers, that he always said, 'And no onions, if there are any, just making sure,' and was much too courteous and friendly in conjunction with his general attractiveness. And for God's sake, the way he drinks from a straw . . .

Zach swears he hadn't been this obsessive in the past, it's just that he's been caught off guard and that Chris is apparently reeking of Zach's preferred pheromone today.

The waitress swings by and Zach asks for a refill as an afterthought, and Chris goes:

"Oh, please. You only call it 'pop' to seem quaint or some shit. Like when people wear sports gear from other cities or whatever to remind everyone their allegiances lie elsewhere. Douchebags. I'm calling you a douchebag right now."

"Well," Zach says, sipping his pop daintily. "That was fucking overanalyzing."

"Why thank you. For my next trick I'll remind you about the dangers of excessive corn syrup when it comes to keeping your girlish figure. Which has apparently slipped your New York state of mind."

"Oh God, this is how you pick up chicks, isn't it? And I'm assuming you progress to such shit as Just the Way You Are?"

"Of course." God Chris is prettier than Zach remembered. God, it's been awhile.

As if reading his thoughts that Chris says, "So . . . how long you in town for?"

"Yeah, not too long. You know."

Chris laughs. "Why are you being weird?"

"I'm not! What? _You're_ being weird . . ."

Chris shrugs. "Maybe I've just matured a bit during our hiatus."

Zach rolls his eyes at 'hiatus'. "You and maturity getting hitched? Impossible."

Chris bites at his lips like he's thinking. "Like. It's weird not to, like, see you around with your crazy neon shirts or whatever. I dunno. It's weird to see you again in the flesh now and maybe that's making me be weird, or something."

"That's weird," Zach says, makes his eyes big.

"Fuck you, man. Jesus."

Zach gets this feeling like he's relearning him. Like this is all a big mulligan to make them turn out different, and it's hard to stay so charmingly cool on the surface of all the impulsive notions flying at him left and right. "So. You calmed down about the fame monster yet? You've certainly been all busy and A-listy."

"You. Are gay."

"Haven't lost that insightful wit, I see."

"And I'm not 'A-listy'. Who wants to be 'A-listy'?"

"Mostly just the people on the A-list already. You know, to convince themselves they enjoy being scrutinized and half-assed and divorced every couple of months. Also Tori Spelling."

"You know, Zach, it's really no wonder you have so many friends in Hollywood."

"Shut up."

So they gossip through their entrées and Zach spends most of it feeling he's trapped in a Christmas special episode of déjà vu. Chris says all the idle things he must have said in the past, but it's all staged against a different background now. Different lighting or different accents. Like when they rerelease songs minus the heavy techno beat and you realize there had been words that meant things in there after all. Or something. It's difficult to concentrate around Chris's familiar-new cologne and his easy laugh and slightly different hair.

After no dessert and assurances that they'll just have to do this again sometime, and how nice it's been, and bickering over tips, there comes this sudden bubbling surge of conversation because they realize that it's time to say goodbye, and Zach wonders why, a little.

Chris turns to face him in the empty afternoon lobby because the time really is up and they'll now have to swallow any remaining stories they'd just had to tell. Chris smiles like it's his default state. "Okay, well. See ya," he says.

"Yeah, see y—wha-umm _nnh_."

The kiss is bright and mouth-watering and breathy, their sighs confounded as one.

" _Ah_ ," Chris says, pulling back to lick his lips. "High fructosey."

Zach's blinking. "What just happened."

Chris just smiles enigmatic.

"What . . ." What more need I look for? Yes, I could die, if . . . "What."

"Don't be a stranger!" Chris says cheerfully, leaves Zach slack-jawed in the lobby.

*

"Fuck, I'm _starving_ ," Chris is saying.

"Yeah, well, the food needs to be cooked first so you don't get trichinosis, so just chill out."

"If you'll recall, I got a motherfucking salad. And anyway who eats pork?"

"Um. Everybody."

"Not Jewish people! Or Muslims."

"Well, they have that in common, at least."

"Also God."

It's been a day or two, and they haven't talked at all until Chris's text from earlier begging for dinner. And they haven't talked about It at all, either. And because Zach has this feeling his hormones might cancel out his judgment, he decides to let Chris bring It up if he's inclined to. You know, since Chris was the one who started the whole thing and in any case might not be as heavily influenced by lusting after himself.

"Hindus."

"Huh?"

"They don't eat pork either. Jeez, get with the program, Zach."

"Ah."

Chris laughs. "You're being weird."

"Your . . . face is being weird." Zach's preoccupied with the movement of Chris's biceps under his so-snug shirt.

So they waste away the rest of their dinner talking about everything and nothing, with Zach fighting off mischievous little moments of attraction to Chris and wondering why they'd been absent before.

Zach asks, "Hey, so, you wanna come over for some coffee?" And immediately wants to kick himself.

Chris makes a face. "We can just order coffee now. She's gonna come back and be like, 'Any coffee or desserts?' and then I'm gonna flirt with her and make her night."

"Okay, so, _you_ are the utter douchebag here."

"Actually I'm just charming." Chris's mind's moving fast—it's in his shaking leg. "Why do you want coffee at this time of night anyway?" he asks slyly.

"I don't, you know, I don't really want coffee I just meant, you know, let's get a nightcap or something."

"Well which is it, Zach, coffee or a nightcap? And why don't you just say 'Hey, Chris, let's hang out?' Because unless I'm mistaken, 'coffee' is kinda date-code for something else. So is 'hanging out', but you know."

Zach sputters. "No, that's. I didn't mean. This isn't a—."

Chris smiles like a snake. It's infuriatingly sexy on him.

They reconvene at Zach's in a matter of seconds, it seems—Chris's proximity warps time and space somewhat—and Zach is just opening his mouth to say something silly like, _You do know that by 'coffee' I meant 'video games', right?_ or possibly something like, _Kiss me, you fool!_ But it turns out none of that is necessary because Chris snatches Zach's keys from his hand and gets the door open and them through it and gets Zach against it in the dark foyer and gets their mouths together all in a row.

Zach can't find it in himself to react properly, just lets out an embarrassing moan and grabs Chris's hands grabbing his arms and kisses back. Chris exhales through his nose and gasps for breath between their lips, smells amazing and knows just how to utilize those sensuous lips, soft wet brushes of their mouths accompanied by the hard press of his body. They're breathing like crazy and Zach's afraid he won't get out alive.

"What," Zach says muffledly. "What is happening, here?" He does want to know, although it's seeming less and less important.

"Oh, this is just a variation. Stop overthinking it."

"What do you . . ." Chris makes a detour to suck on Zach's earlobe and Zach's about ready to throw in the towel on talking about anything ever again.

"It's just a new take on you and I, Zach, and I happen to think it's a lot of fun, so just shut up, already."

"Yeahokay." Zach moves Chris's head so they can kiss again.

Chris responds with enthusiasm, making lovely exaggerated sounds of contentment into Zach's mouth and directing them sneakily in the direction of the couch, walking backwards and oddly sure footed in Zach's living room of yesteryear. He's got Zach's wrists in his hands and the warm callously swipe of his thumb on the delicate skin sends shock waves as much as Chris's conquering tongue.

Zach's just waiting for Chris to trip up in the dark but clearly he's been staging this coup for weeks and has no trouble spinning them around and effectively throwing Zach down on the couch. Chris pounces in pursuit, still somehow has control of Zach's arms and presses them into a loud leather cushion above Zach's head, pulls his hair a little by accident, leans in for an even better kiss and Zach revels in the heat and hardness of him.

Zach feels deliciously damsel-like, horny and held down and dizzy with desire, but at the same time wants to turn the tables and fuck Chris senseless. He's getting overtaken by fantasies, moans into Chris's mouth and rolls his hips needily and _that's_ when Chris pulls back and says:

"I should go." Wipes his wet red swollen soft lips.

"Uh?" Zach is breathing Chris's breath.

Chris bites his lip consideringly, which is not helping the situation. "It's only the second date. Be a gentleman, dude."

"This isn't a date!" Zach says frantically. "This is a hookup. Correction: this is _about_ to be a hookup, so . . ." Reaches for him.

Chris laughs. "No, seriously."

" _No_ , I'm _seriously_ hard, Chris, this is fucking unfair!"

"I _want_ you, Zach. Um, hello, obviously." And he grinds down into him wow, _hot_ , like it isn't counterproductive at all. "The anticipation is the fun part."

"Five years of anticipation isn't enough for you?" Zach feels like he's grasping at straws, but he's pretty sure he's the only one present with any sense.

"Calm down, babe." Chris extracts himself, fights off Zach's limbs and stands, straightens his shirt and smoothes his hair. "Okay, I'm gonna go." He goes, determined not to walk funny on his way out the door.

"Cocktease!" Zach calls after him, lies there motionless on the couch hard and unhappy.

*

"You know what I mean. 'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.'"

"Okay, Caesar, have it your way."

"Cassius."

"Huh?"

"It's Cassius's line," Chris says, sighs long-sufferingly. "I know this stuff: I learned words in school. I have a framed piece of paper about it. It's all very impressive, so . . ."

"Yeah? Well I learned acting."

"Ap _par_ ently not . . ."

Zach can't not laugh, spies Chris's secret little smile while he picks apart a straw wrapper. "Anyway, it's depressing thinking like that."

"And it's less depressing thinking everything is completely out of our control and predestined by some jerkoff in the sky?"

Zach rolls his eyes, takes a break from their lofty conversation to eat that last bite of his big awesome burger after all.

Chris's got his pondering posture on, leaning back a bit and frowning and folding his arms sagely. "See, like, it's my thing that it is all predestined, but it's predestined to randomness. It's not like the gods playing dice with we lowly mortals or anything. It's just like, random chance."

"That's the most oxymoronic hipster thing I've ever heard, and I must say you've got some pretty stiff competition sitting across from you so, bravo?"

Chris nods. "Oh, so, you're pretty stiff competition, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what I . . . wait."

Chris smirks.

"Ew, you're such a boy."

Chris shrugs. "Thought you were into that."

Zach gets hot in the face but it's okay because he's about to say something flippant and witty . . .

Nope, it's too late. Little thoughts crash their way to center stage, like what it's like to kiss Chris and how he wants to kiss Chris and how he's getting hard thinking about it.

And it occurs to Zach that there is really very little fabric separating Chris's naked body from the rest of the world. And he's not so much undressing Chris with his eyes as actively planning to undress him.

They conclude dinner uneventfully, leaving generous tips while Chris flirts with the waitress. Walk in silence to their cars in the cool dusk settling over the pavement.

"So," Chris says, quietly, in respect for the dying sun. "How much longer you gonna be in town?"

Oh. Zach had forgotten about that, a little. Fights off a pesky pang of regret. "Yeah, I've gotta be getting back soon. There's no real time limit except for—"

Chris kisses him so easily. Firm and pillowy and Chris, and when he pulls back to look at him there's no way Zach can ignore his heart-pounding worry or lust or stupid sense grief.

"Do-you-wanna-come-over-for-coffee."

Chris laughs. "Talk about single-minded. Don't people do goodnight kisses anymore?"

"This isn't fucking Europe."

"Well anyway, _last_ time doesn't count as a third date scenario."

"And why is that?"

"It was just a prelude."

"To a kiss? Okay, I think you've got this courting thing a little out of order, here . . ."

"An opening statement for following dates. Don't worry, it'll flourish and get fully developed eventually, like the nubile young thing that it is . . ."

" _Aaand_ I'm turned off."

Chris laughs. "Okay, I've gotta go, man. Night." Walks away to his car.

"Oh and by the way, since when are we dating each other, Chris?" He's going for glib but that doesn't stop his pulse throbbing in his ears.

Chris doesn't turn around to respond: "Since when _aren't_ we dating?"

"Stop being twelve and start thinking of cleverer comebacks! What happened to all that Shakespearean shit?"

"Peace, ye fat guts!"

"You're doing it wrong."

*

They get brunch the next day and Zach realizes they've never had so many successive solo meals ever, not when Zach was in LA and certainly not in recent months, not even before that with filming and touring because there'd always been a general gaggle of people with them somewhere in the midst. Now there's such focus—the two of them spotlighted to the world, and Zach wonders what else he planned on doing on his little trip back west, because anything professional or social or equally obligatory seems to have fallen by the wayside ever since just for an instant he felt the beating of Chris's heart.

They don't exactly discuss where they're headed, just pile into Zach's the car and drive.

"So," Zach begins. "If the other night was a prelude, then what exactly should I be expecting now? Is this the part where the music swells and the cymbals crash and it's all exciting because it's in a new key?"

"No, because I don't listen to shitty music, _Zach_."

"So are we still lost in the exposition?"

"Okay," Chris says. "I really don't care as much about good and proper counterpoint as you, apparently."

"What, you just take your music as random chaos?"

"More or less." Chris shifts around in his seat to muse more solemnly. "The way I see it, whatever someone intends as art is art."

"Soupcans and shit."

"Yeah. There's a point in the lameness."

"Almost got to insightful there. Almost."

They listen attentively to the top forty for a song or two.

"So," Zach says, because they're nearing a decisive intersection. "Do you want me to just drop you off, or . . ."

Chris makes a show of considering. "I could really go for some coffee, I dunno about you."

"Pretty fucking hot for coffee," Zach points out.

"Mm. We'll have to find something else to do, then. I guess."

They find something else to do, there in Zach's too-AC'd entryway with Zach's keys clattering to the floor and Chris's wonderfully exposed skin wonderfully warm against his while he kisses him.

Zach tears himself away. "Wait. We haven't talked about this."

"I know."

"No, like, we haven't talked about this at all."

"So?"

Zach doesn't know the answer. "Um. I dunno. We just haven't."

Chris laughs. "We talk enough," he says matter-of-factly. "This is our new thing. Let's try it out a little before you ruin it with talking."

Chris has dancing eyes and kiss-bruised lips and there's just no other way to say it: he's fucking gorgeous. "'Kay," Zach blurts.

The kiss is insistent, starting slow and ending with them attempting to combine their tongues and limbs and bodies in general. Chris tugs at Zach's ironic belt loops until they gain enough momentum to make the journey from frantic front door make out to Zach's bedroom. Chris throws the curtains hastily closed, gathers Zach up in his aura and they kiss heatedly by the dresser for a while.

Zach tries to lean them over to the mattress but Chris keeps distracting him by sucking on his tongue or groaning into his mouth or whatever.

Chris is the one who pulls away this time. "Wait. Wait."

"Chris, seriously, I know how much you delight in sending out mixed signals to random chicks but this isn't cool, man."

"No no. Wait. I just." He sighs kind of violently, but it doesn't seem to calm him at all. "We're friends, Zach, and—"

"Oh _hell_ no, you are _not_ pulling the Ruin the Friendship card on me, Christopher Whitelaw Pine . . ."

"No, wait, listen!"

"Ugh this is so _unfair_ —you _started_ it," Zach whines.

" _Shut up_ , man!"

"Shutting up."

"We're friends, Zach. And I wanna kiss you. But I'm worried that it's all like . . . you know like, when you watch the kinda porn you'd never enact in real life, and like you can't quite believe you're watching this shit and it's actually doing it for you?"

"Nope."

"Fuck you, I know you're male, yes you do. But like I'm afraid like it's a taboo fantasy thing and not a lust thing."

"That . . . _is_ what lust is."

"I don't fucking know, okay? I have the gay jitters, okay? Fucking sue me. Jesus."

Zach sighs, annoyed, but it evaporates quick because Chris clearly is distressed. Sighs again, more fondly. "Of all the confounded nuisances, you are the worst," he says.

"What."

"Never mind. Just come here, and stop thinking so much." And when had their roles reversed, exactly?

Chris just sort of falls into him so Zach leads them finally to the bed, gets Chris laid out appetizingly over Zach's unmade, barely used sheets, kisses his mouth chin neck and chest through the flimsy shirt and grinds subtly into Chris's thigh.

And Chris becomes fed up with his shirt, twists around to get it over his head and Zach figures it's as good a time as any to follow suit, gets surprised by Chris sitting up enough to mouth at Zach's shoulder and snake his arm around him. Zach makes it a proper kiss before giving a shove to make Chris more horizontal. Zach's so turned on by the mere fact that this is happening, and then with Chris's burning body and wet lovely mouth thrown in the mix Zach is beyond lost. Clothes come flying off like it's a race and the room is cool but luckily Zach's a moth and Chris is simply the most intriguing flame.

Zach needs it to be more than a quick exchange of hand jobs—that would be too shrug-off-able. Needs it to be a definite thing that transpires with a definite label.

Zach kisses his way over stubble to Chris's ear. "You've never gotten fucked, right?"

"No, of course not—"

"I'm gonna fuck you. I'm gonna make it so fucking good for you, Chris, I'm gonna make you beg for it."

He's so breathless. " _Unn_ , okay . . . shit . . ."

It may all seem to be progressing uncommonly fast but if you take into consideration all the idle fantasy scenarios of this nature Zach's collected over the years, this is really just the tip of the long repressed iceberg. He wonders if it's a similar thing for Chris or if it really is just some random sexy epiphany for him.

Chris murmurs around his mouth, "Do you want me to, like, blow you. Fair warning: I'll probably suck."

"That's the idea."

"Oh fuck you—you know what I meant."

"I mean," Zach says. "I'd rather save the tender romance for later, if that's okay with you."

"The tender romance of blowjobs?"

"Ugh. Sure. Whatever, I can't fucking think right now . . ."

"It's overrated." Chris gets Zach to look at him. "Maybe you should just fuck me instead."

Zach doesn't need to be told twice, rummages like a crazy person around the cramped drawer in his bedside table, pissed at himself for having had a cold and stocking up on cough drops and drugs and tissues—eventually finds the optimistically new bottle of lube and gets pissed all over again. Rummages more frantically for something to open the stupid shiny covery thing.

"You're such a girl," Chris says, batting Zach's hands away, getting the thing open with lightning speed and slathering the stuff all over some pretty solid evidence that Zach is not a girl. Zach gasps and Chris snorts in amusement.

Zach blinks away that delicious warming slickness enough to wrestle the bottle back. He procures some lube ASAP and gets a finger in Chris surprisingly easily, figures Chris isn't a complete idiot and at least understands the principles of muscle relaxation. Zach goes deeper gradually, determined to break Guinness records for good first times. Chris shifts around a little trying to get more comfortable.

Zach leans up to kiss at his neck, tastes salt and inhales pitch-perfect cologne and asks the damp skin, "Weird?"

Chris just nods, shifts again and down so it propels Zach's finger a bit ahead of schedule, but that's okay because it inspires a shivery gasp and Chris's hand clawing at Zach's arm.

"Good or bad?" Zach asks, slightly hypnotized by Chris's flushed face and parted lips.

"Weird," Chris says tightly, releases the tension with a therapeutic sigh. "Not bad," he amends.

Close enough. Zach gathers up some more lube before good measure and inserts a second finger, can't resist kissing that generous panting mouth.

Chris kisses back vaguely, _mmf_ 's and his grip on Zach's arm fluctuates from vice-like to scratching to loose and shaky. Zach adds a third finger sneakily and rearranges himself to stroke Chris's begging cock at the same time, becomes obsessed with every beat of Chris's heart.

Chris's free hand joins in and slips into Zach's hair to tug, which is kind of torturous but it makes Zach feel thoroughly wanted and desperate to blow Chris's fucking mind. Or just blow him or fuck him or whatever.

Chris angles his hips up helplessly into Zach's light withholding strokes and Zach relents a little, jerks the wonderful heated fullness of Chris's cock harder for a minute while twisting his fingers deeper.

Zach hadn't realized how silent it had been until Chris shudders out: "Ohhh this is so hot. Jesus . . ."

"Why? What about this is doing it for you? May I remind you that I don't have tits?"

"That's why. Because you're so . . . because you're being a guy, I dunno. Dominance. Something. I dunno, it's just hot. Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon?"

"You seriously have ADD."

"No, I'm seriously just seriously horny. Seriously."

"Valley girl."

"You're calling _me_ a valley girl? Oh, that is . . . ooh, _that_ is . . . hmm . . ."

"So hot," Zach says to his neck.

"Zshyeahuhmm."

"If you say so."

Zach curls his fingers in such a way that Chris jumps a little and makes this amazing whimpering sound, so Zach keeps doing just that until Chris is breathing hard across his collarbone.

"Want it yet, Chris?"

Chris nods. "Yeah . . . yeah, just, _just_ —"

Zach turns Chris's face, makes him look at him. "Use your words."

"Want it. Want you to fuck me. Want you to fuck every last fucking thought out of my head. Want _you_ , Zach."

And of course Zach had forgotten to find a condom in his haste, curses and wonders what else can go wrong when out of nowhere Chris holds a scandalous red square of sin aloft. Starts to ask _Where? Why? That was in your pocket during brunch? _but decides he doesn't much give a shit and just steals it from under Chris's smug blue gaze, gets the condom on with embarrassingly jittery fingers and Chris shows up with an excessive handful of lube that they can't help laughing at for a minute before it turns hot and breathless again—Chris drawing him close and Zach leaving a slow delving kiss to set a precedent before he eases into Chris's terribly compelling body.

"Good or bad?" Zach pants into Chris's ear.

Chris throws his head back, eyes jolting electrically open before shutting again with the force of it. "What the fuck do you think, dumbass?" he breathes.

Zach swallows against the way that that catapults his pulse into the vicinity of a heart attack, focuses on keeping Chris's leg at that particular angle and his body pinned down and his thrusts steady.

The screaming of Zach's straining muscles is loud and clear and although it makes him feel a little lame for being relatively sexually inactive of late it also spurs him on, challenging as much as the timbre of Chris's voice duetting with headboard creaks and smacking skin sounds. Zach speeds his thrusts and Chris goes crazy for it, trying to clutch at him and push down into it and push up into the return of Zach's hand on Chris's cock, loosely circling it to let the rhythm of their bodies do the work.

"Oh. _Please_. Oh please just just just don't— _uh_ —don'tstop, shit, please . . ."

Zach almost laughs but chokes on it because Chris is being breathtaking. And then Zach comes like how the highest richest vibrating harmonics sound, layers of extra half-imagined notes up in the musical stratosphere.

When he returns to reality Chris is still writhing and desperate beneath him. Zach extracts himself and will just have to catch up with his breath later, jerks Chris's cock hard and flourishing, like he means business. Eats up Chris's laughing moan and bites his lips for him, sucks and licks into his mouth for good measure and Chris makes an infinite urgent sound, twists like he's escaping, comes all over Zach's hands and the bedsheets of his former life.

They don't cuddle afterward, just curl up and kiss lazily for what must have been hours before slipping into sleep in the middle of a perfectly good precious day.

*

Zach fiddles with a fork. "What are we doing here, anyway? I thought we were past the obligatory wining and dining."

"This is the coda. There has to be some kind of reprise to tie it all up in a neat little bow."

"Does there?"

"Fuck you." Chris squeezes lemon into his ice water. "Oh and P.S. you're not going back to New York."

"Oh really? P.S., yes I am. What, you won't come and visit me?"

Chris sings: "All my lovin', I will send to you."

". . . That was atrocious."

Chris laughs. "Chill out Zach. I'm done shopping around for discounts and settling for knock-offs. Who cares if the good stuff is in New York? Planes and frequent flyer miles exist."

"That's . . ." What more need I look for? "Never pegged you for a metaphor man."

"Yeah, well." Chris just beams at him.

There's always some kind of background noise with every relationship. And sometimes it's very structured and adherent to rules and procedure, and sometimes it's just random unshakable sounds. But looking at Chris now Zach can't hear anything subliminal anymore, and there's just the music of silence, and Zach's head over hells for that.

*


End file.
